


Undone Buttons

by gaymingtrash



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymingtrash/pseuds/gaymingtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole does his mind-reading thing on Hawke, who is a very unwilling subject, to put it lightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Quick elaboration on the archive warning and tags: Rape is implied, but it's being implied by the characters - ie. it happened 'offscreen', before the story takes place, and it isn't committed by anybody in the canon. However, it's still a lot more hurt than it is comfort, regardless.

Hawke was loathe to go to Weisshaupt. 

The Hossberg Circle in the Anderfels had been one of the most devout, and when it dissolved, many mages chose to seek refuge at Weisshaupt rather than fight. The Chantry was infallible to them. While she’d visited before with a false identity, planning to aid a non-existent uprising, she would now be entering Weisshaupt Fortress as Hawke. Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, rebel mage and life partner of Anders, the man single-handedly responsible for the entire war - as far as they cared. Anders, the man who took - and besmirched - the name of their beloved country, and gave nothing back.

She would rather have walked back into the Fade and fought the Nightmare demon again than trek to the Anderfels and say, “Hi, I’m Hawke, _that_ Hawke, and there’s an ancient magister darkspawn who I _thought_ I’d killed trying to enter the Fade, where I actually just came from. I also left one of your Wardens there behind me. Also, the aforementioned magister darkspawn has been infecting Wardens with a false Calling, so a bunch of them turned to blood magic and had to be killed. The Inquisitor exiled the rest, so Orlais has no Wardens now. And you are?”

Hawke was, therefore, putting off leaving Skyhold for as long as possible. 

She found herself in the Herald’s Rest one evening, after another successful day of not leaving Skyhold, slightly begrudging the fact that the Inquisitor had a whole tavern named after him. Why didn’t she have a whole tavern named after her? Even half a tavern would have done, as she pointed out to Varric after a few drinks. She was generous - maybe even just a particular brew could be named in her honour. A good brew, though, it would have to be.

Hawke didn’t notice when Cole appeared at the table. She didn’t recall seeing him enter, but she couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t there before. She noticed him now, though, and under the shadow of his giant hat brim and overlong fringe, she could feel him looking at her. It was, frankly, more than a little bit unsettling.

She’d heard mixed reviews on the spirit. The view that he was “creepy” wasn’t an unpopular one, even as far as “demon” and “it” to Vivienne and Sera. Fortunately, _Madame de Fer_ and herself would never be drinking pals, and Sera had slipped off earlier. This left her with the Iron Bull and Varric, and to them Cole was “kid”, so she would hear him out. Besides, her best friend from Kirkwall was a blood mage, and her lover sparked a city-wide rebellion. Controversial company was her thing.

She shot a friendly smile in his direction, but his face remained impassive.

“Pressure, a pinning hand. Not enough to hurt, but enough to know that it could, if he wanted it to.” The words were quick, breathy, and provoked a feeling of incredible discomfort. She cleared her throat, uneasy, and downed her drink to avoid having to respond.

“Ah, he does that,” the Iron Bull said, with a casual hand wave, “don’t worry about it.”

The Iron Bull’s word provided little comfort. Hazy memories began to surface in her mind, unbidden, and she didn’t know if this was the spirit’s doing or hers. Suddenly “creepy” felt more accurate than “kid”, and her discomfort became tinged with anger. She had barely been a teenager at the time, years ago. Why was he doing this?

“You undid the buttons yourself, to save them from ripping,” Cole continued, oblivious.

The hazy details of memories sharpened, and bile hit the back of her throat. She swallowed, and lifted her drink to her mouth only to find it empty. The descending tankard hit the table a little harder than she intended, and the resulting clunk of metal on wood caused a few heads to turn. She set her jaw and stared them down, challenging them to comment. _Say something, I dare you_. They turned back, and she let out the deep breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Kid, not now,” Varric said, in a gentle but firm tone, as he pressed his leg against Hawke’s under the table in what she assumed was meant to be a comforting gesture.

“It still would have happened if you hadn’t,” Cole said, and the statement sounded apologetic, as if meant to console.

It did not.

“That doesn’t _help_ ,” Hawke said, emotion betraying her as her voice wavered. Cole’s face fell into one of confused sadness, and she felt not even a shred of sympathy for him. She shoved her own leg back against Varric’s in retaliation and left, thundering down the stairs and slamming the tavern door closed behind her.

Hawke didn’t want to draw the attention of the people inside Skyhold, so after a moment of indecision she strode to the far side of the steps up to the doorway. She sat on the damp ground, pressing her back against the cool stone. Hot tears streamed down her face, but she did not sob, and she did not wail, taking only little gasp-y breaths. She sat there, jaw clenched, chest heaving, pretending everything was as normal.

Varric found her before too long, and he sat on the ground beside her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.” She spoke with enough venom to make Varric flinch, prompting a flicker of guilt. She took a calming breath, then a second, and then a third. “You don’t get to ask about it, and he doesn’t get to rip it from my fucking head, and I get to retain some small, _small_ , bit of privacy, okay?”

“Okay, Hawke,” Varric agreed, softly. “Okay.”

After a moment, he offered her a napkin he’d taken from the tavern. She took it from him and wiped away her tears, and there they sat together, in mutual silence.


End file.
